


Kings of a Purple Sea

by Kca1516



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, BAMF Derek, BAMF Stiles, Charmspeak, Kidnapping, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mates, Minor Character Death, Power Play, Smut, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, True Mates, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:13:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kca1516/pseuds/Kca1516
Summary: Stiles and Derek are rival pirate captains, each trying to get a one up on the other in an attempt to rule the seven seas.Derek is leader to the legendary Hale Pack. A ruthless family of werewolves who even the greatest fear.Stiles, the Sea Charmer, has his own cruel reputation, though no one has seen his true face as he hides it in silks of dark blue wrappings.However, when a joint enemy threatens to take both crews out, will Stiles and Derek be able to put aside their differences and work together before they both burn in the water?
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 15
Kudos: 122





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is a new story to add to the many wips we have going. We dont have an exact updating schedule however we never abandon fics so this will eventually be finished lol.

_ Blue. _

_ Crystal blue. _

_ The child was born without a sound.  _

_ Not a scream, not a cry, not an audible breath.  _

_ At first, his parents didn't think anything of it; they were too overcome with joy. They waited as the doctor cleaned up the child, excitement clouding reason. Szczepan, they decided the name would be, meaning crown. Shortened, the name would be Stiles.  _

_ But when the doctor turned around they realized something was wrong. Their baby, their Stiles was completely silent. Immediately, the worst case scenario filled the parents' thoughts.  _

_ Dead, their child was born dead.  _

_ The doctor had shaken his head to contradict them. Stiles was very much alive. His heart was beating, and his lungs were taking air in and out, but he was still. Still as the eye of a hurricane. The mother and father reached for their child, needing to hold him in their arms. Their hearts pounded in their chests despite the doctor’s reasurances.  _

_ Stiles was going to be okay. He had to be. But as the minutes ticked by, and Stiles still lay silent, doubt creeped further and further into their minds. They were about to lose hope when it happened.  _

_ The storm hit. _

_ The child's eyes opened, and the room was encompassed in blue. Everything around the little family faded away as Stiles took over. No one could have looked away if they wanted to. Stiles's father would later say that his eyes had been as deep, and dark as the ocean. He insisted that if you looked close enough, you could see waves created by Posideon himself crashing down on the rocky shore.  _

_ Stiles’s mother said his eyes were that of crystals. They were as clear and crisp as the moving glaciers in the arctic.  _

_ Both parents would later come to understand that they were both wrong, and they were both right. _

_ They watched, transfixed as the blue in their child's eyes glowed brighter, and brighter, practically blinding them before coming to a sudden halt.  _

_ Stiles started to cry.  _

_ The parents startled, coming out of a trance like state. The mother, immediately tuned into her son's distress, and started rocking the child softly while cooing. The father wrapped his arms around both wife and son, providing a sturdy foundation for both to feel safe. Their child's tears provoked their own. The stress and anxiety they had felt slipped away from them with each drop. They cried tears of joy, tears of pain, and tears of sadness, and as they cried their son did also. As Stiles cried, the parents noticed something strange.  _

_ The blue, that magnificent blue that was their child's eye color, was seeping out of his irises with every tear. The salted water wanted to return to the ocean once more. When the boy blinked away the last of his distress, the blue had vanished. For a moment, his eyes flashed red, but even that faded.  _

_ The next time Stiles blinked, his eyes were a honey brown.  _

_ ~~~~~~~~~~ _

_ Red. _

_ Blazing red. _

_ Derek's family couldn't have been prouder.  _

_ As soon as the newborn pup opened his eyes he had the entire room's attention. The boy looked innocently around at all the new faces. People he would later recognize as siblings, cousins, uncles and aunts surrounded him. His father had momentarily left the joyous celebration to inform the rest of their crew the good news. _

_ The next Alpha, whispered friends and family. Talia Hale, current Alpha, had just given birth to the next leader of the Hale pack. The next King of the Seven Seas. _

_ Talia held her baby tight. Already she felt a powerful bond stirring between them. She loved him from the start, as fierce as any mother could.  _

_ However, she knew nothing would ever be easy for her child. The life of a leader was never one of luxury. She knew from first hand experience the difficulties that came with being the heir to a kingdom. The pain and suffering that came before the wealth and power. The hours upon hours of training she was put through from early morning to late in the night. The seemingly endless lessons on the politics of their way of life. The fear that came with making a mistake.  _

_ Flashes of punishments Talia's father put her through came to mind, one after another. They were brutal. Scars scattered on her back created a map from where she had been flogged. Bones that would never fully heal still creaked from where they had been broken. She ached knowing what she would have to put her son through. For the first time she wondered if her father had felt this same pain when he had done it to her?  _

_ Talia didn't have time to ponder the question as her son sneezed in her lap. The mother looked down at her baby, soothing words already on her lips.  _

_ Instead she almost screamed. Derek's eyes, his red eyes, were blue. _

_ Blue, the color of murderers. The color of those who killed the innocent. Her brand new child, who's eyes had just been wonderfully red not even a second ago, were blue. _

_ "Take him away," Talia ordered her brother, Peter.  _

_ Peter's smile fell from his face at hearing her words. _

_ "What? Why? What's wrong Talia?" He questioned his sister who looked like she was about to throw her child from her lap. _

_ "Just take him, take him away from me."  _

_ At this point her entire family was looking at her like she was crazy. Clearly seeing her uneasiness, Peter hurried to pick up the child, who squirmed in his arms as if sensing the tension. The baby started to cry at being taken away from the warm body of his mother, and Peter started bouncing him in order to calm him. _

_ "What’s wrong, Talia?" her husband said from where he had just walked into the room after informing the rest of the crew the good news. _

_ "Aaron, look at his eyes. They're blue," Talia said, disgusted.  _

_ Shock passed over her husband's face as he scooped the child up from Peter's hold. Big, fat tears were still running down Derek’s cheeks, and drool was dribbling down his chin. But that was the only thing Aaron found out of place. His son's eyes were red, ruby red as they had always been. Aaron held the babe close to his chest, comforting the crying thing. _

_ "Talia, you're tired. You've just given birth, you need rest," Aaron said trying to divert her attention from Derek.  _

_ Talia regarded her husband with betrayal.  _

_ "What color are his eyes, Aaron?" Talia insisted. _

_ Aaron flinched, the beta in him wanting to obey. _

_ "Talia I don't think you should-" _

_ "What color are his eyes?" She growled.  _

_ Aaron had no choice but to obey. Slowly, he drew closer to his wife before lowering the baby for her to see. _

_ The baby's eyes were red. _

_ Blazing red. _

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay the first official ch is out, (as with all of our fics, more editing will come after all the chapters are out) we are super excited to continue updating in this story but we do have a lot of wip's so sometimes it will take us a while to get things out, hope you stick around :)
> 
> The song for this ch is literally any music from the Pirates of the Caribbeans, movies despite the cliche, it just works so well.
> 
> Some of my favorites from the score include:
> 
> \- One Day  
> \- At Wit's End  
> \- Davey Jones Theme  
> \- Up is Down  
> \- Marry Me
> 
> All by Hans Zimmer who is an amazing composer with everything he does
> 
> (For this ch I'd say a little bit of One Day with Up is Down at the end)

Stiles’s worn, leather boots squelched with every reluctant step he took up the moldy, wooden plank. 

The sun left blooming red buds on the apples of his cheeks, seagulls mocked him as they rode the air currents to freedom, and sea salt stung his eyes as the wind picked it up from the tips of the harbor’s waves to experience a new adventure.

Soaked, wet rope had been weaved in and around his wrists to make it harder to pick the knot. 

Stiles’s course was not one he was taking willingly. 

“Keep moving,” the man behind him gruffed out at the lack of urgency, though there was nowhere they needed to be. 

A presumptuous hand splayed itself across the middle of Stiles’s back, and shoved him forward.

He was sure the push was meant to make Stiles stumble and look a fool, but the prisoner was more than the guard could’ve ever expected. 

The man herding Stiles didn’t know the true identity of his charge, or the danger he posed. 

The pirate was escorting his Captain’s greatest rival into the belly of their territory. 

Stiles Stilinski, or as the world knew him, The Sea Charmer. 

After all the time spent evading The Hale’s grasp, and laying waste to their legion of ships, this was where Stiles had landed himself. 

What would his enemies think of him if they knew the reason he was at last in their clutches was due to the loss of a drunken brawl? Recalling the embarrassment made Stiles wince, or was that from the residual headache he had been sporting ever since he’d started to sober up? Better yet, did it matter?

Stiles had brought shame down upon his name today. He had brought shame upon his ship, and his crew, and his legacy.

Stiles had lost.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


It was as Stiles and his crew made their way to a nearby dock that he’d spotted it. 

The Hale Pack’s ship.

They called it  _ The Triskele _ to match the whorled tattoos splayed along their back. 

Not just a support ship either, this was the Captain’s ship. Stiles’s eyes narrowed, spotting their black flag whipping in the wind. He had yet to admit it to himself, but he was hoping to catch sight of a darkened figure looming over the bow. A king surveying a kingdom that was not yet his, and would never be if Stiles had anything to say about it. 

The Alpha. Derek Hale, Stiles’s rival. A spindly grin had overcome Stiles’s face. A golden opportunity had been handed to him on a silver platter.

“Change of plans,” Stiles called, swinging down from the cockpit. 

His first mate, Scott McCall, regarded him warily. 

The Captain unsheathed the dual blades that lay hidden along his back. His honey eyes flashed a riveting blue. 

“The Wolf has been spotted, and this time I’m not letting him get away.”

They were going after Hale’s ship, and they were going to destroy it for nothing more than the fun of it. 

Except the proceedings didn’t turn out quite how Stiles had anticipated. 

A thick layer of pearly fog had swaddled them, hiding their true trajectory. Nature was on their side, but the element of surprise wasn’t theirs to manipulate. There was more to their enemy then they had thought. By the time horror set in, it was too late. They had been spotted. The smothering murk lifted to reveal that two sister ships flanked  _ The Triskele _ . 

Stiles, now draped in darkened leather that hid his identity, was swallowed by the smug image of Alpha Captain Derek Hale staring him down. 

The man’s stubbled jaw clenched, as if he took no pleasure in wiping Stiles’s crew across the board.

Nonetheless, the Alpha’s eyes flashed red, and he tightened the armor gripping his forearms. 

He was readying for battle.

Stiles’s ship had nowhere to go as the enemy began to surround them. Stiles had fallen for the Alpha’s trap. 

Derek’s triumph would be proof enough of it.

Stiles and his crew resigned themselves to defeat. 

Their Captain parted his lips, his wicked tongue already enrapturing those who could hear him.

It wouldn’t be enough. 

To say Stiles had been woefully overpowered would have been an understatement. Crushed, demolished, obliterated was the more accurate term. 

They were able to fix their course just as they would have been trapped. 

Still, the only reason Stiles’s ship had been able to escape was because their boat had become remarkably lighter. The holes Derek had blown into his hull were thanks for that. 

Stiles had dregged up power from the very bottom of the well inside of him. He knew he had to use every bit of his voice if they were going to be able to safely retreat. 

Stiles’s winding serpent tattoos glowed under his suit, an azure to match his eyes. He had sewn into himself with enchanted ink that would help him hone, and direct his gift. 

As it was, the snake's burning scales were currently screaming at him, warning him that he was close to a full drainage. 

Stiles hadn’t heeded the warning. Knowing that if he were to get caught, his crew would become prisoners. The Captain had pushed and strained and bewitched his enemies with his voice as he warded them off. 

It was just as Stiles’s crew was safely out of earshot that Stiles dropped from burn out. It would take till early nightfall for him to regain even a lick of the power that normally overwhelmed him. 

When Stiles’s ship had finally pulled into port, the Captain ordered the crew to immediately start repairing the ship. Usually, he would give the men the night off after a battle such as the one they had partaken in, but Stiles wasn’t taking any chances.

The Hale’s ship was somewhere along the same shore they were. 

They needed to get out of port before they were found, too weakened to wage a fair fight. 

Stiles had been one of the first to leave the ship after barking orders. The shame of his defeat was heavy in his gut, shame at leading his crew into a battle they had no chance of winning. Granted, the constant war between Stiles and Derek was always equal in who won and lost, Stiles had never lost as bad as they had that day.

The Captain’s legs had carried him to the merchant sector of the town. He needed a reprieve from the constant responsibility that lay on his shoulders.

It was a rare occurrence that he let himself off the hook when his crew was still on the clock, but if there was any day that he needed a break, today was it. 

Stiles walked into a bar.

It was a rundown, desolate place filled with lowlives and failures. Stiles knew he fit right in. 

The Captain walked through the wood doors, and would have walked out if he wasn’t so used to the smell of rank body odor and spilled alcohol. 

None of the current occupants paid him any mind. For now Stiles was just another deadbeat the world had chewed up and spit out on an abandoned dirt road.

Stiles had sat himself at the bar, sitting on a stool that creaked under his weight as if mold had rotted away its ability to stand tall. 

When the beer bellied bartender hobbled over to the pirate, Stiles made a vague gesture that translated to, ‘one of everything on the menu.’ The old man regarded him strangely, and Stiles hissed out that yes he was over the legal age limit, and to hurry it up if he wanted anything that resembled a tip. The subtle glint of the knife at Stiles’s side was enough to get the man moving. Stiles rolled his eyes, far too sober to be dealing with seedy bastards. 

Not soon enough for Stiles’s liking, he was downing shots and drinking concoctions he had never heard of without care. The humiliation was too much to bear, his failure to the people who trusted him was too much to bear.

Even as he lost himself in bitter liquor, Stiles couldn’t get rid of his rival’s gaze boring down on him before flippantly deciding Stiles wasn't worth his time. His thoughts swirled like whirlpools. With each acidic swallow, he waited for the burn to wash away the screams of his own men being forced overboard by the hoards of wolves who had infiltrated their defences. Stiles hadn’t been able to save them from their watery graves. 

He didn’t think he would be able to escape the sound even if he drank himself to death.

His blood boiled in his veins. 

He wanted a fight; correction, he wanted a fair fight. 

He wanted Derek Hale to barge through the door of this sleazy bar, and bare his fangs at Stiles. He wanted the man to pick him apart as if he was a chew toy. Then he wanted to wipe the man’s superiority complex off his pompous face. 

Stiles picked his drooping head off his chest as the door behind him opened.

His luck startling. 

Although it wasn’t the culprit Stiles had originally wanted, it was the second best thing. Derek’s third in command, Isaac Lahey, had sauntered in. 

The wooden shot glass slipped from his grasp, joining the other dried substances on the floor. But liquid luck warmed his limbs, and placed an unprecedenetd cockyness in his heart.

He unsheathed his blade, and marched his way to Isaac.

~~~~~~~~~~

As one could assume from his current predicament, things hadn’t gone as Stiles expected of them. 

The Captain cursed, or he would have if there wasn’t a gag firmly bisecting his mouth. Sweat and dirt layered on Stiles’s tongue. He didn’t want to know where Lahey had pulled the fabric from before he had sent Stiles on his merry way. Hauling him off to some lesser crew members Isaac had designated him worthy of.

It was embarrassing. 

The many times Stiles had faced down Isaac, he had been rightfully treated with an air of fear tinged with respect. 

Even as an enemy, Isaac knew to honor Stiles. 

But without Stiles’s battle wrappings and charmspeak, his drunken actions had been laughably easy to dodge and restrain. Without Stiles’s vast armors he was a laughing stock. In his current crisis, he was left entirely defenseless. Even if the Captain’s limbs were strong enough to aid him, he was weaponless, drained of magic, and being led to an enemy ship. 

The ship's mast towered above him as he took his first step, as a captive, into dangerous territory. Where normally he found the deck screaming with the clashing of claws and steel, the wind howled restlessly through the empty corridors. If Stiles didn’t know better he would call it a ghost ship.

The crew was out celebrating, as Isaac had been.

“Keep it moving,” the man behind him growled, trying at intimidation. 

Stiles expected it usually worked for him, accompanying the man’s bulging build, but Stiles had faced down the Captain of this ship. The Alpha himself. No beta scared him. 

Stiles wouldn’t be cowering. 

On any normal day he would have found his way out of his bonds three times over. On a normal day he wouldn’t have lost the fight to begin with.

Alas, the hidden Captain relented. He had no choice but to comply with the guard’s orders. 

Stiles continued onward to the belly of the ship. He clung to the comfort that he was a predator where these men thought he was prey. 

Sooner or later Stiles was going to make sure they all knew it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The moon called to the Alpha, rattling his bones so they pulsated against their fleshy prison, sloshing the blood along the tops of his tunneled veins, stealing the breath from his lungs so they shriveled and burned. 

The moon and her power urged him to tap into the unending cavern of potential inside him. 

Derek Hale always felt restless the few nights before the fool moon, but tonight more than usual.

All he really wanted was to have an uneventful night, alone. 

The Alpha had been stripping from his battle hide when a knock sounded on his door. Derek had half a mind to ignore it until the caller took the hint and left, but Isaac was storming in before Derek had a say. 

A nasty purpling bruise lined the beta's jaw. 

“Take care of him,” Isaac snarled. 

Derek groaned: an uncharacteristic response. 

Isaac had paced his cabin, complaining of a boy at a bar who had the nerve to sock him into next week. 

Last Derek had heard, Isaac was taking some of the crew to the shore in order to celebrate their victory over The Sea Charmer.

Captain Stiles Stilinski.

It had cost a pretty penny to uncover the true name of Derek’s rival, but the information had far outweighed its price.

Stiles Stilinski hid behind silks of blue to keep his identity a secret, but Derek was one step closer to uncovering him to the world. 

The day Stiles submitted to him was the day he knew he had won.

The Alpha’s crew had been overjoyed with the easy win the day had brought them. They had sent Stiles’s ship running for land. However, Derek thought his followers overeager, too proud. 

They had caught The Sea Charmer by surprise with their numbers. Were it a fair fight, Derek was unsure they would have won. The Alpha had warned the crew not to sit too comfortably atop their victory, but he hadn’t stopped them from going out to celebrate either. A boost in morale was needed, and it would have provided him the peace he needed to quell the thrumming in his body. 

Now there was Isaac’s drunken dispute to deal with. 

As Derek was Captain of the ship, it was his duty to deal out punishment. 

Derek assured Isaac he would take care of the prisoner in due time, but made it clear he would do it on his own terms. 

This wasn’t a top priority situation. 

Derek would warn the prisoner of starting fights he couldn't finish, and then send him on his way. 

The Alpha wasn’t needlessly a monster, despite his well earned reputation. 

The Captain eventually convinced Isaac to leave, and hoped to fall back into the exhaustion that had called to him earlier. 

But where his sheets had once been soft against his skin, they now scratched. Where the waves had once provided a lulling rocking motion, they now lurched him back and forth out of spite. 

The moon summoned him to his duty whether he liked it or not. 

That restlessness drove Derek to the present. 

The Alpha burst into the briggs, eager to take care of the prisoner that had not left his mind since Isaac had brought him to attention. 

The rusted iron door welted the wall it was forced in contact with.

A metal clang echoed like ringing church bells.

The prisoner inside didn’t flinch.

Derek almost did.

A silhouette of a creature lay before him, tucked in on himself for protection, and aimed perfectly to strike out if need be.

The prisoner was bound and gagged. His ruby lips were split open on the slip in his mouth. Freckles spattered his tanned cheeks, and his gaze was pinned on Derek with a rage that foretold the separation of the Alpha’s head from his neck. 

A second flashed by where Derek swore he knew the boy in front of him, like a memory that had not yet happened, but it slipped from Derek’s fingers before he had a true grasp.

The prisoner was an enigma, but Derek had a job to do. Curved claws unsheathed from the Captain’s nail beds. 

They glinted despite the shadow that encased him. He wasted no time sinking the talons into the wall’s, bruised, metal casing. A pained screech pierced their ears.

Once again, the prisoner was unimpressed. 

The moon was playing her games tonight, and Derek wasn’t strong enough to resist. A flame lit in his gut. The boy had been foolish to pick a fight with Derek’s crew, he would be taught a lesson.

“I’m assuming you know why you’re here,” Derek said, blunt and to the point. 

The prisoner glared at the wolf, not wanting, or able, to answer the question. The Captain drew closer; a spirited wind pushed him forward from the open door. 

“Don’t play coy. You can still answer me despite your bonds. For your sake I suggest you comply. I won’t ask you so nicely next time.”

Derek let his irises flash red, taking a strange delight in intimidating the prisoner before him. 

A story from long ago sprung to the forefront of his memory. 

The story of the day he was born.

He had been introduced to the world with irreplaceable red eyes. For only a moment, that red had flashed blue. The blue of murderers, true murderers. To this day, no one knew why, though some spoke tales of soulmates sharing eye color. Nothing had ever been proven.

The Alpha drifted away from the memory when the prisoner began to nod. 

A sliver of moonlight slashed his face, catching eyes of honey and bourbon. Derek was entranced; he wanted to play with this one.

“You know why you’re here. You know what you did, and you did it anyway. Do you know who we are, or are you just that stupid?”

Obviously, the prisoner could not respond, but the spark within him gave it away. 

Despite Derek’s warpath, and his knack for making others quiver in their boots, the prisoner wasn’t scared. 

No newcomer had ever regarded Derek with anything less than pure terror. 

The telltale potency of fear was that of sweetened perfume to Derek. 

There wasn’t a hint of the scent Derek had come to expect from the opponents who challenged him. 

There had only ever been one opponent who had regarded him without fear…

A roar escaped Derek. His elevated reflexes allowed him to invade the prisoner’s space with sharp intent, and he slammed his fist into the wall next to the boy’s head. The boy closed his eyes as the only sign that he was startled, when he opened them Derek could have sworn they flashed blue. 

When the color didn’t last Derek chalked it up to a trick of the light. Those defiant eyes continued to bore into Derek’s own, but the beginnings of fear finally began to seep from the prisoner’s pores. 

Realization slotted into place inside of Derek. He had played dirty. He was better than the magnitude of force he could produce. The Alpha had wanted fear, but he had wanted fear he had earned. Derek cursed himself for losing against his own power trip. 

“Are you afraid of me now?” Derek growled.

The prisoner reeked of it. 

A trick, though Derek hadn’t known it.

Knowing he had won the battle before it had the chance to get good, Derek let his guard down. 

A sweet tune rose from the dark abyss.

Suddenly, a need pierced Derek; it consumed him. Derek yearned to hear the boy’s voice. He sought to hear the prisoner grovel, and beg for a release only Derek could give him. 

That would be the true prize, total surrender. The Alpha ripped the gag clogging the sweet voice that called to him.

The prisoner gasped out a breath at the sudden sweep of air that flooded him. His eyes rolled upwards towards the heavens as his head fell back against the wall, exposing the lean lines of his neck. 

A release of another kind. 

The pale length of the boy’s throat tempted Derek; the boy didn’t even know what he was doing.

“Beg for me,” Derek insisted.

The only one who was begging was him. The prisoner was not the weak little thing he had played, and Derek had fallen into his trap. 

“No,” the prisoner said, voice strong and sure where it should have been raw and hoarse.

“It’s my turn,” the boy promised. 

Derek made to contradict him when his body froze of its own accord. 

His stomach sank.

“Get on your knees,” the melodic voice ordered.

Derek was helpless to resist as he fell. To the Alpha’s horror, the boy stood from his cowering spot. The ropes that had enslaved his wrists fell away, useless. 

“You know,” the prisoner said as he circled Derek, “I almost didn’t recognize you out of your armor, but the smell of wet dog and arrogance was hard to misplace.”

A hand tangled in Derek’s hair. 

The alpha’s loathing was contained in the prison his body had become. He had warned his crew of arrogance, but had not heeded his own advice.

“How do you like it on your knees?” the boy asked, “I wouldn’t know what it’s like.”

The melody reflected a twinkle of amusement.

“Good bye, Derek Hale.”

With that, Captain Stiles Stilinski, The Sea Charmer, Derek’s number one rival, walked out of his prison without a single person to stop him. 

The moon laughed her amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos are always appreciated :)
> 
> Follow us on tumblr @kca1516 for more content!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, this was hastly edited between 1-2 a.m so mistakes may be prevelent but I wanted to get this out for you guys. This ch was originally supposed to be longer, but it would have been too long should I have incorporated all that was supposed to be there so more of this scene is continued in the next ch.
> 
> the song for this ch is Singapore from the Pirates of the Carribean At World's End soundtrack bc its a pirate au so of course

Waves ruptured along the starboard of Stiles’s ship. 

The sopping, barnacle laden wood planks that made up his beloved vessel groaned under the weight of the collision.

The residue from the hit climbed in beads of rain, ruthlessly up and up, reaching for a freedom they would never obtain. Needles pelted back down, furiously drawn back to the sea while soaking Stiles and his crew in a rage unobtainable to any mortal man. 

The Sea Charmer threw his face to the sky and raged right back; he was no mortal man. 

A giddy smile pulled at the tendons of his neck. He splayed his arms out wide, and welcomed another downpour as his beloved shook wildly underneath him. 

“I know, darling, I know,” he crooned.

A war cry pulled Stiles from the thrill that set his veins alight. 

A blue chuckle snaked out from between his lips. Stiles shut it away. Using his charmspeak would be too easy; it would provide too quick a death. 

A man was headed straight for him, set on running him through.

Stiles’s feet glided along the deck as he met the man’s charge with his own. 

The Captain raised his dual swords, a final warning.

His enemy didn’t hesitate. 

Crossing the blades, Stiles caught the man’s long sword before it could reach his person. 

The sailor’s pride was only bruised for a moment as he pulled the weapon back with enough force Stiles had no choice but to release it.

The Captain wasn’t concerned; it was clear the man didn’t recognize the sorcerer he had taken on. 

The man was burly and stupid, thinking he could get the better of Stiles with weight and strength alone. 

For that, he deserved exactly what he had coming. 

Before the man’s blundering form could overpower him, Stiles lashed down slices of electricity with a precision, and earth shattering force, even the ocean knew to be wary of. 

The smugness, the surety, the cockiness of his rival withered and died until he was barely able to raise his weapon in his defence. 

With one final blow Stiles skewered the man’s neck on his blade.

Just as the desperate mists of waves did, the man’s body dropped, a sack at Stiles’s feet. 

The Captain took a step closer to his prize. 

Red tributaries crawled closer to a glaring black iris, the blood flow would stop before it ever reached its target. 

From the puncture Stiles had dealt to the man’s throat, the swollen tissue had stopped fighting for life as soon as his steel touched skin. 

What a nuisance. 

Stiles couldn’t have such a mess on his deck. 

Another burst of a wave shook the ship, its tips reaching the top of the flagpole. 

A flickering blue churned and burned against the black wrappings stuck to Stiles’s arms, his snake’s warming up for use. The Sea Charmer could feel them burning through a material that was never meant to contain their godly gift. Their unrivaled potential fought to consume him, take over his mind and body and wreak havoc on a world unprepared. 

As always, before the mania could rise up and devour him, Stiles clamped down on their insolence. He crushed them into submission until a cool, familiar touch caressed the inner walls of his mind.

An unruly pet finally returning to the will of its master. 

_ There you are _ , Stiles addressed his companion. 

It answered in kind.

Stiles’s eyes glowed blue. 

“Up,” Stiles ordered.

The crew around him unwittingly froze before shaking off a command that was not meant for them, and went back to their fighting. 

However, the body at his feet twitched, as if a forlorn, faux thrum of life pumped through the corpse’s veins once again. It rose, feet lifting off Stiles’s floorboards it hung like a limp puppet in the air. 

A sick satisfaction slithered through Stiles.

“Go,” he commanded.

The body was pushed backwards by an invisible force before the suspension snapped, and another man joined the dead bodies accumulating on the seafloor.

If he made it that far; the sea was not known for her kindness. 

Nor were the gifts she bestowed upon her loyal subjects.

As Stiles’s threads of magic broke apart and blended into the air around him, a sharp pain twinged in his temple.

He had been careless, and if he wasn’t as skilled as he was it would have caused him his life. 

Before he had a moment to recompose himself from the pounding in his head, two men rushed him. 

This time Stiles wasn’t playing. 

Before either opponent could sneak up on him, Stiles threw himself out of the way. Propelling himself off of the foremast he landed swiftly behind the attacker to his right; he cleaved the man from shoulder to hip bone. 

His partner’s eyes widened, coming to understand that the man he had challenged was leagues above him. 

It was too late. 

“You began this,” Stiles said, and threw the knife that had lay hidden in his belt.

The blade sunk home through the man’s skull.

“I finished it.”

Stiles didn't have the luxury of ridding his ship from the vermin that lay upon it, learning from his previous mistake. He didn’t want to waste the well inside of him when there was still a long battle ahead of them. 

He allowed himself to wince, there had been a long battle behind them too, and he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t almost out of fuel.

The beginning of this battle had started so much differently than what it had turned into. 

A few months had gone by since Stiles had gotten himself stupid drunk, and been taken captive into The Wolf’s Den where he had recklessly outed himself to his greates enemy. 

Derek Hale, the Apha himself, now knew what Stiles looked like. 

Years of hiding and covering his face, so as not to be recognized, had been tossed out a porthole. In his escape attempt, Stiles had forsaken the depth of his reputation for freedom, and he knew it would come to do him in sooner rather than later.

Stiles had returned to his ship with his head hung in shame. He had gathered his closest crew mates, and told them what he had done. The people he could safely call his friends had rightfully chewed him out for his mistakes, having stopped fearing repercussions for their crassness long ago. 

Stiles and his friends had estimated that by the end of the month most of the world would know the truth about him, or at least that someone had seen behind the mask. The people would come to find it wasn’t a demon that lay behind the wrappings, but a man far too young to be afraid of.

Stiles didn’t doubt for a second that Derek wouldn’t out him to the public, and destroy the reputation he had worked so hard to achieve on his way to gain the title they both sought after.

King of the Seven Seas.

Stiles, after bringing himself to apologize, had told them that they would have to start planning a way to counteract the negative impact his outing would cause. 

They had agreed this wouldn’t be the end of them, but knew their future could not be counted on.

However, as the weeks had come and gone, no where that Stiles traveled did he hear rumors of his identity. Neither was it revealed that Derek had managed to kidnap him, even if it had only been for a few hours at most. 

Unsure what his play was, Stiles had worried himself feral. 

After two months had gone by without seeing or hearing from Derek Hale at all, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. He had rampaged through his ship calling for Scott and the rest of them to set course for The Triskele, wherever it may be. Stiles would sail the globe until he found Hale, and beat him to a bloody pulp. 

That was how this had all started.

The continuation of the constant battle between Derek and Stiles, and how it should have been magnificent.

Stiles had sailed up to Hale’s ship in the middle of the night. He rose a fog from the tops of the water so that not even the man in the crows nest could have spotted them until it was too late. 

Stiles had emerged from the mist like a siren rising from the depths of the waters itself, coming to enact his revenge on the man who had ripped the floor out from under his feet and smirked as he watched Stiles desperately crawl his way back to surface level.

Stiles’s eyes had flared dark, angry blue beyond his control, turbulent surges of the tide rising and crashing in his eyes.

He had killed the first man to race towards him, a new recruit, no one important. At most it would annoy Derek, and Stiles wanted to piss him off. 

The Sea Charmer usually left fighting the crew to his men, but that night he had not been so generous. Anyone who had crossed him had ended up a bloody mess before him. Hale’s crew had seemed to sense he wasn’t here to flit and toy, and left a pathway open for him.

From there it had been easy to find Derek.

The man had dropped down to greet him.

Stiles had known he’d been hiding in the ribs of the ship's flags since he stepped foot on the ship. 

He had merely wondered how far Derek would let him rage before he came down. 

“ _ What has you so strung out _ ,” Derek said gruffly, but casually as if this was a conversation between distant friends.

Stiles hadn’t wasted his breath on words as he furiously stabbed at the man. Derek dodged without even drawing his weapon. 

An insult.

It was normally Stiles who darted and snarked at the quiet man, drawing pleasure from riling the man up. For one of the first times their roles were reversed, and Stiles couldn’t say he liked his own moves being shoved back in his face.

The Sea Charmer madly brought his sword down where Derek had been casually leaning against the ship’s railing. 

The Alpha slipped from his spot as if the north wind had picked him up and moved him itself. Stiles’s blade cut clean through the woord.

“ _ Is this really what you want right now? To destroy my ship and throw a tantrum? I’ve never thought much of you, but this is a disappointment.” _

Stiles growled as he fought with the wooden plank that refused to let go of his weapon, imagining skinning his opponent alive and fileting his skin to feed to the sharks.

The charmspeaker was thrust backwards as his sword finally released. He turned to lunge for his opponent again only to have the realization that Derek had snuck up on his exposed front. 

Red eyes gleamed without the help of moonlight. 

An extended claw rested on the pulsing artery of Stiles’s neck. 

Stiles didn’t dare flinch. 

He was so close, yet unable to make an attack that Derek couldn’t counter in this position. Should he try anything, he’d be dead before he struck.

Stiles grit his teeth, hating that he had to lift his head in order to meet eyes with the smug asshole. 

For a moment they could only stare at each other, each counting how many times they had found themselves in this position. Would this game between them continue on forever? Did they want it to?

Stiles continued to memorize the face he had memorized a million times over again. The same strong jawline with a hint of shadow, the furrowed eyebrows that drifted down to meet the strong slope of a nose, the eyes that could glow crimson. A mirror to Stiles’s strong blue.

“ _ What is it you really want, Stiles _ ?” Derek had murmured, letting the tip of his claw nick a well in Stiles’s neck.

The Captain, all but forgetting the threat to his life, pushed into the barb.

_ “Don’t you dare say my name _ ,” he had hissed, flaming the urge to stab the man through the gut.

Derek laughed at him.

_ “What can you do to stop me? _ ”

The Alpha grabbed Stiles’s face wrapping with the hand that wasn’t forcing him steady, and ripped the bandages away to reveal what he now recognized underneath. He made it very clear the position they were in, and who held the advantage. 

In doing so, he pushed Stiles to his edge.

Stiles rarely used charmspeak on Derek, not when they were fighting like this. It would be too easy, and it would be a false win. 

It wouldn’t present Stiles as a strong leader, he who took the shortcut to rid himself of his greatest enemy was no one to be revered. 

Stiles was a bastard, but he had morals. He was going to beat Derek fairly so that no one could question his strength.

But the Alpha had pushed him too far, had disrespected him one too many times, Stiles could no longer ignore the call to remind Derek exactly who he was. 

“ _ Take your hand from my neck.” _

Derek’s body went rigid as the swell of Stiles’s voice took over his body. 

The Alpha’s hand dropped.

For the first time, Derek’s own body was lost to him. His weapon that had won him half of the ocean, his raw strength that had garnered him rightful fear. He was a monster, and his body was his iron fist, without it he was nothing.

He should be afraid.

Yet even now, to Stiles’s ever growing fury, Derek was taunting him with the soft pull of a smirk the charm speaker had not forbidden.

If that was how he wanted to play, who was Stiles to back down.

“ _ Walk to the railing behind me and throw yourself over it,”  _ Stiles hissed maliciously.

Finally, surprise caused the slightest widen of Derek’s eyes before slitting back into furious points.

Even if Derek had the ability to speak his mind freely, Stiles knew he would not have begged for his life. In fact, he would not have said anything at all.

The Hale Pack Alpha’s legs moved without his permission. His stride as sure and steady as ever as he brushed past Stiles silently, towards his own watery grave. Stiles counted carefully, he estimated it would take five more steps until Derek would be able to reach the edge.

_ Three… _

_ Two… _

“ _ Stop _ ,” Stiles’s voice commanded, his power crawled excitedly beneath his skin. 

The drop of footsteps stopped.

“ _ Turn around _ ,” Stiles said, to which he made Derek wait as he took his own time facing his foe.

A wall of pearly mist was a stark contrast to Derek Hale’s dark figure. 

There was still no fear, only the promise that should Stiles ever let him free he would be lucky to make it out alive.

Stiles shivered with anticipation. 

_ “Do you know how easily it would have been to throw you off your own ship. Call up any lingering sea creatures to swallow you whole. Don’t forget who you're fighting, Hale or else I’ll force you to remember.” _

Derek’s jaw tensed as if he was trying his hardest to fight against the restraint on his mouth to no avail. 

Stiles rejoiced in his opponent's helplessness, satisfied in his success.

If only it could have lasted.

The Sea Charmer paled as the outline of a ship appeared through the fog on a straight course to cut The Triskele in half.

~~~~~~~~~~

The bow of a third ship, looming with water logged wood, came too quickly for either of the two pirate captains to do anything. 

There was no time to move them off course or signal for the third ship that they were there. That was assuming the third ship was friendly, and this was a genuine accident due to the fog Stiles had called upon. 

Stiles didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out. The Captain sprinted for the other side of the deck before the ship beneath him was blown to pieces. 

“ _ Get off the ship!”  _ Stiles screamed, forcing his charmspeak over every fighting crew member.

He didn’t have the luxury of making sure the command stuck as the pirates all stopped what they were doing and started running.

Stiles made to join them, propelling himself from the staircase he had chased Derek up when terror rolled through him.

Derek was still frozen in place from the command Stiles had never dropped. Cursing his own pettiness, Stiles flung himself back up the stairs sprinting for the man who was stock still.

Derek’s eyes were closed in a final goodbye.

Stiles grit his teeth. No way was he letting his greatest enemy die if not by his own hands.

The ship towering above them breached the railing.

The wood held, but Stiles knew he had seconds before it would begin to fail. The burn in his muscles wasn’t enough to still the panic forcing him forward, but it was too late.

He wasn’t going to make it to Derek in time.

The Hale Pack Alpha stood steady in his glory as he awaited his death.

Stiles refused to let him go so easily.

_ “Derek, run!” _

Stiles screamed, vocal cords ripping to shreds right before an eruption of wood, and the spray of salt blew around them.

~~~~~~~~~~

The charmspeaker extended a hand, and enclosed it around the Alpha’s own. 

He glanced back only once to make sure Derek’s grip was secure.

As the floorboards were ripped out from under their feet, Stiles caught a glimpse of a figure standing at the bow of the intruding ship.

The telltale red copper coat fluttered in the breeze as the world exploded around them.

A madman standing in his chaos.

This was not an accidental hit as Stiles had hoped.

Theo Racken had found them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading, I hope you enjoyed it
> 
> You can follow us @kca1516 on tumblr if you want more content
> 
> See you all next chapter :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos are always welcome!!!


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